Fizzled Candles
by XxDarkSongxX
Summary: Even the Guardians can't save every child. *Sandy Hook Elementary tribute*


**Title: **Fizzled Candles

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **Even the Guardians can't save every child.

**Warning: **ANGSTANGSTANGSTANGST, tw: child death, guns, real world tragedy, if you want to save your feels from the impending stabbing, back away from the fic and no feels will get hurt!

Inspired by the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting in Connecticut, the stabbing of primary school children in China, and the tumblr pic by strixmoonwing. I have no words; I just can't.

**XXX**

Christmas was meant to be a time of joy, of happiness, of love, of _wonder_. It meant winter wonderlands, mugs of hot chocolate by a crackling fire, and presents being opened underneath an evergreen tree. It was North's favorite time of year, _his_ year, when he would deliver his presents to children around the world, checking names off his list as he soared through the night sky.

His heart broke when he had to cross at least twenty names off the list.

He stood in the circle, hands on the shoulders of Tooth and Jack, the latter burying her face in her hands as she wept before the candles lit in the formation of a star. He could not bear to look at the faces of his fellow Guardians as he became consumed with grief. Televisions set up in the globe room, usually used to plan the best Christmas route, were turned to multiple news channels. The words poured over his head, twisting around him like one of Pitch's nightmares:

"The nation mourns the victims of the Connecticut school shooting…twenty children are among the twenty-seven victims…twenty-two children were stabbed outside a primary school in China…critical condition…"

The fierce warrior bowed his head and closed his eyes, tears slipping out from between the folds and coursing down his ruddy cheeks, staining the ruby red coat he wore and coating his once joyful blue eyes into pools of despair.

North can't preserve the wonder in every child.

_EVERYONE_

_Memories_ were cherished by all; a part of the soul, it is a part of the child himself, the essence. The day a father or mother returned from a prolonged absence, the birth of a new member of the family, and countless more were locked away inside their teeth. Toothiana protected the golden memory boxes with her life, keeping the memories inside pure and innocent as the child had been when the event had occurred.

Her world collapsed when the golden boxes lost their light.

She sunk onto the floor, only held up by North's constant hand on her quivering shoulder. Gazing at the candles that threw the room into a soft glow, her eyes blurred, causing the star formation the candles made to blend into one single hazy image. Tears ran down her face as she held her face in her hands, recalling every tooth she had ever collected from the children who would no longer receive them. The voices of the adults in the newsroom surrounded them like the nightmares she despised:

"Evil visited this community…A man went on a stabbing spree at a school in China…it has been reported that the gunman committed suicide…one child is in serious condition…"

The tooth fairy queen's broken sobs shattered the hearts of the Guardians, her magenta eyes heavy from sorrow. Prism wings lay flat in their defeat, reflecting the light of the candles as they bathed the globe room with golden beams.

Tooth cannot return memories to every child.

_NEEDS_

Every child is imbued with curiosity, with wisdom, with an inner light that defeats the darkness. That _hope_ runs through Bunnymund's veins, filling him with adrenaline as he darts through his tunnels every Easter, bringing his eggs to children around the globe. His eggs, painted with every color, pattern, and design imaginable, would set the eyes of children alight with imagination as they discovered the chocolate, unique to each child, inside.

His adrenaline dies when the inner light is snuffed out.

He stood next to Jack, looking on with shell shock as the star burns bright, comprised of the glowing candles that mark the nightmare that fell upon them, almost insulting in its brightness. He is frozen, unable to comprehend yet understanding everything; his heart just refuses to see it. He hears the cracked sobs of Tooth as North stands sentinel like a soldier while the running commentary hammers into his head:

"This has been experienced far too many times…police have confirmed the death of the shooter's mother on the same morning as the attack…victims of the stabbing suffered head wounds…tragedy that shook the nation…"

Something within him cracks, and the Easter Bunny falls onto his knees with a terrible thud, head looking down. His ears, once so attentive, droop listlessly alongside his face, which spasms with immeasurable grief. Tears gather behind his lifeless eyes as he hides his face with his paws, mouth open in a harsh and whispered scream. The levy breaks, and the tears flow.

Bunnymund can't bring hope to every child.

_THE_

It is common knowledge that children are filled with creativity and imaginations that result in fantastical creations. This talent fosters hope, wonder, and joy as children view the world as their sandbox, a world of endless possibilities. It is what drives Sandy to hop onto his cloud every night to bestow _dreams_ to the sleeping children. For who better than the Sandman to know the most heartfelt wishes of the smallest child as he lies in his bed, blissfully awaiting another day? It is his greatest moment when his dreamsand floats into the rooms of the children, swirling around their heads in the form of what they long for most.

He feels an arrow pierce him when the dreamsand forms a skull above an empty bed.

He feels lost, empty inside as he stands between North and Jack, looking at the starry shape of the candles with a vulnerability that frightens him. Questions assault him the longer he looks at the lights, each one a beacon representing a fallen child, a child who had dreams for the future, dreams that will never see reality. Golden eyes start welling up with unshed tears as the news swirls around him like Pitch's black sand:

"…Opened fire at an elementary school where she taught…our hearts are broken today…sheer terror…it has to stop…these senseless deaths…"

Usually gleaming eyes dimming, the Sandman lowered his head as his tears, liquid drops of gold, trickled down his face. Silently crying in sorrow and pain, he put up a hand to wipe them away, but the teardrops continued to fall. Frozen for a moment, he held out his hand in front of him, beholding the glistening tears, until the ones that were still falling had to be wiped away again.

Sandy cannot give dreams to every child.

_GUARDIANS_

Perhaps more than anyone, children know how to have a good time. Their sense of adventure was something Jack Frost connected with, as he escorted them through their games of hopscotch and snowball fights. As he gazes at their grinning faces as they nailed an opponent with a snowball or succeeded in sledding past 'old man Nicholson's' house without getting caught, he was temporarily caught in a rush of excitement, of sheer _fun_, as he gave children worlds of white and endless possibility.

He doesn't feel believed in when there's less children, and the ones who are there don't smile.

Numbly standing between Sandy and Bunnymund, he breaks inside when he hears the hushed screams of the Pooka, who once looked Pitch in the eye as a tiny bunny with no fear, grieving over the children who will never know another Easter or another night of Chanukah or another Christmas. He cannot cry, he cannot speak, he cannot do anything but stare at the candles as if they were mocking him, a harsh reminder of the cold, dark reality as the news struck him like a blast of Pitch's black sand:

"Victims are in shock over the tragic shooting…crying fourth-graders huddled in a corner…family members openly wept…'I'm not going to have anyone to play with'…"

That hit him most of all. Breath choked out of him he sagged against his staff, clinging to it for dear life. Those children were sons, daughters, friends, _believers_. They were the reason he took the Oath of a Guardian, they were the reason he gave them snow days and fun. And now they were gone, ripped from him like a leaf from a tree. For every believer gone, he felt his heart ripping, his powers fading, numbness worse than his chill freezing him to his core. But the tears refused to come. They had been cried out.

Jack Frost can't bring fun to every child.

_EVEN_

Ordinarily, Pitch revels in _fear_. It was a necessity to every child of the world that they experience it at least once in their life, a checks and balances system to their wild dreams. The Guardians kept their heads in the clouds but he had his feet firmly on the ground. Fear meant reality, and it was something every child must learn if they would go out into the world.

He felt at a loss when clusters of nightmares sprang up in one place simultaneously.

He appeared at night, when darkness provided comfort and safety. Noticing the police tape wrapped like a grim present around the school, he followed his nightmares, who anxiously trailed the scent of fear itself. He made his way to a church called St. Rose of Lima, where adults and children alike gathered, holding candles in their hands and tears in their eyes. He listened to the lament:

"She was going to be 7 next February…I had gotten him new mittens and a sled…he waited for his friend…this morning was the last I ever hugged her…"

Amber eyes surveyed the scene that was devoid of hope and joy. Usually he would be delirious with happiness at this achievement, but now as he looked at the circumstances, he felt conflicted. Fear was meant to protect, to caution, not to kill. What had those kids felt when they were deprived of life?

Fear.

A rustle of crunched leaves alerted him to Judah, the Guardian of Chanukah, standing next to him. "Churches are not my thing," the Guardian said quietly, "but I came to bring some light." As he spoke he held out his hands, and the candles burned brighter. When Judah had taken his leave, he observed his mares, sliding through the vigil, nickering at the children, who shrank back into their parents.

Something stirs inside him, and he calls them off. "You will have plenty of time when the children are asleep," he instructed. "For now, let them be."

A girl clutching a doll watches the nightmare return to him, and his eyes widen along with hers as their eyes meet. She can see him.

He places a finger to his lips, and she, terrified, nods and runs back to her father, who takes her in his arms. Turning away from the scene, he calls to the shadows, preparing them for the night ahead. After all, they will have dozens of nightmares to look after in the coming nights.

Pitch Black can't teach his lessons to every child.

_ANGELS_

And somewhere on the moon looking down on them from above is a man who may be the most broken-hearted of all. But as the tears streamed down his face, a smile touched his lips.

Man in the Moon cannot look after every child, but he will always protect those he can.

**XXX**

LEAVE ME TO DIE! *crawls into corner of feels* I gave myself major feels when writing Bunnymund's part, as well as Jack's and Pitch's. I PROMISE TO HAVE SOME FLUFF FOR YOU SOON!

Why yes, I did make a Guardian of Chanukah, u mad bro? Wouldn't it be cool if there were more Jewish Guardians? And they would get along with Pitch because lots of Jewish holidays are about triumphing over genocide (seriously, several of them can be summed up with: "They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat.") and some are in memory of fearful times. I have fanfic ideas…

Love your family, have fun, look at the world with wonder/hope, dream, remember, and REVIEW!


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